


Asking for Help

by thatsoccercoach



Series: Which Door? [23]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Protective Jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 04:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14866281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoccercoach/pseuds/thatsoccercoach
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to Claire to ask for help, even if she needs it.





	Asking for Help

                                                         

Her throat hurt from coughing, her head hurt (also from coughing), and her eyes were burning. Her nose was congested and she felt as if her head was filled with cotton. Cotton that was hot and might burst into flames. It made no sense, but it was how she felt. Being sick was miserable which was why she was resolved to never be sick again. That also made no sense but she was a nurse so if anyone could do it, she could.

Thank goodness for Jamie. Though he was at work, he still realized how sick she honestly was and how much she needed help. He also accurately evaluated how terribly stubborn she was which prevented her from asking for help herself. He knew her.

Yesterday he’d talked to their neighbor Mrs. Fitz who had come over and vacuumed, done the laundry, and washed the dishes. She’d thrown open the windows for fresh air as well which left Claire shuddering with chills, sliding them shut as soon as Mrs. Fitz left. Still, her efforts had been both appreciated and necessary as Claire couldn’t see herself having enough energy to have done any of that.

Jenny, Jamie’s older sister had dropped by just briefly. She had given Faith and Brianna a bath, read them stories, snuggled them and them put them to bed. Claire slowly sipped some tea and sprawled on the couch the whole time, trying to get her voice back since she had lost it in all the coughing.

Now, Murtagh was on duty which was good considering she actually felt marginally worse today. Still feverish, even more exhausted, and coughing up a lung (she had medical training, she knew it was true), she couldn’t have gotten Faith and Bree to preschool when she was genuinely struggling to get herself as far as the bathroom. His plan had been to drop them off, run a few errands of his own, get groceries so Claire didn’t have to, then bring the girls back home. Through bleary eyes, Claire glanced at the clock. They should have been home by now but they’d probably been waylaid by some quirk of Bree’s personality. Frequently, she was difficult to wrangle into a carseat.

Then the doorbell abruptly rang. It _continued_ to ring inside her head as she pulled herself out of bed, stumbled a bit as the world seemed to tilt, righted herself and went to answer it. Murtagh had a key of his own but he likely had his hands full with both girls and the groceries.

She dragged herself to the door in spite of her burning lungs, the stitch in her side, and the dizziness plaguing her. At this point, asking Murtagh to stay wasn’t too much for her pride. Swinging the door open she stepped aside quickly permitting Bree to fly through in a rush shouting “Yuv you, Mama!” Murtagh and Faith following more sedately with groceries in their arms.

“Och, lass,” Murtagh scowled at her from underneath his bushy eyebrows as he sat the groceries down and bent to take off his and Faith’s shoes. “Ye arena lookin’ any better at all! Did ye not rest while we were out?”

“I _did_ ,” she coughed out, wrapping her arms around her aching sides. “I don’t feel any better. Might you be able to stay a while? At least until Jamie finally does get off work?”

The look on Murtagh’s face was of complete concern. He knew her well enough to know that a plea for help came only with great difficulty, even if it was to those whom she trusted. Claire was independent and she liked it that way.

“Aye, I wilna leave ye and the lasses until Jamie comes,” he nodded then stooped to pick up the groceries and take them to the kitchen.

She bent to grab a bag and help him, then the world spun around her again, all sounds blurred into one rushing noise, and her vision faded to black.

* * *

“Christ, lass. Ye gave me a fright!” Murtagh’s face hovered mere inches from hers, concern emanating from him.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed, attempting to sit up. “Where are the girls?” she asked as he pushed her gently back onto the pillows in her hospital bed. Wait. Hospital bed?

“Both are wi’ yer neighbor, Mrs. Fitz. She came quick as a shot and offered to stay so I could come wi’ you here.” His brow was furrowed and his eyes probed her, seeking the knowledge that she would be fine.

“Why am I-,” she stumbled and started again. “But why am I here? _Where_ am I?” She coughed then wrapped her arms around herself trying to keep from falling apart as she felt she must if the coughing continued.

“Ye dinna even recognize the hospital?” he interrogated, incredulous that she was that unaware and that ill.

“No, well, yes,” she rolled her eyes skyward. “I _know_ the hospital, but whyever am I here? What happened, Murtagh?”

He began, slowly and patiently as if he was talking to Faith or Bree instead of an adult who worked in the medical field. “When the lasses and I returned, ye collapsed and I couldna wake ye. I called an aid car, yer Mrs. Fitz, and Jamie.” He reached out and and grasped her hand and then whispered once more, “I couldna wake ye.”

“Oh Murtagh,” she sighed. Jamie’s godfather, in spite of a gruff exterior, was deeply compassionate. She could only imagine what he’d been thinking, dealing with her and the children all at once.

“They said ye had a collapsed lung and a raging case of pneumonia,” Murtagh finished as a red-faced, wild-eyed Jamie burst into the room. Claire would have laughed if he hadn’t looked so stricken.

“I’m all right,” she croaked out as he groped for the hand that wasn’t being held by Murtagh. “I’m all right.”

“Aye, Sassenach? Truly?” Gently he cupped her cheek, turning her to look him full in the face.

“Apparently I’m being treated for a collapsed lung and pneumonia. Nothing very serious,” she flapped her hand as if to brush aside all concerns.

“Are ye crazed, woman? A collapsed lung isna serious? I called Joe on my way here to get details of why ye were not _conscious_ when Murtagh called me earlier!” Jamie was on a roll. “Dinna do that again!”

“Wait, _Joe_ treated me?” she interjected.

“She doesna even ken who treated her yet she says it isna serious,” he mumbled under his breath.

Murtagh began a quiet retreat out the door leaving them alone with one another.

“Sorcha, you ken ye dinna ever need to prove anything to me, no? You can take care of yourself and our lasses and we all know it,” he raised his brows at her then softened his voice as he continued. “But I dinna want there to ever be any doubt that I would think any less of ye if ever ye asked for help.”

She _did_ know she could ask for help, she just didn’t care for it. She also knew she didn’t have to prove anything to Jamie. He of all people knew her strength, independence, and intelligence and valued them and her. She had grown so much in the way she allowed herself to trust him and ask for his support, knowing it didn’t lessen her strength. It was still hard though.

“I know but…” she trailed off. “I know, but I’m still learning to ask for help. Be patient with me?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“Aye.”

 

 

 

[Photo Source](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/470344754828035133/)


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